


Turn To Face The Tiger

by ContreParry



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Enemies to Friends, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 00:48:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8776513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContreParry/pseuds/ContreParry
Summary: Anders has always searched for the match to his soulmark, but he never expected to find it where he did.Fenris never truly searched for his soulmark's mate, and is surprised to find his match at all.For the TBAA Let It Glow 2016 fic exchange, for timesorceror.





	

Anders’s soulmark was a slash of bright blue that ran along his forearm. It swirled on his pale skin in strange patterns, forming the figure of a big, bold cat ready to pounce off his skin out into the world. Anders loved to stare at the mark, so beautiful and flashy, and he wondered about the person who shared his mark. Who was his partner? Who had another tiger running across their forearm, seeking out its mate? 

They would be brave, Anders decided, and clever. They would be strong and they would be kind, and they would love him. Anders would love them too, and love them with all of his being. Anders was sure of it. His certainty was what pulled him through the lonely nights in the Circle, what comforted him after his dark nightmares when he was a Warden, what kept him warm and happy when Justice pushed him to continue his work in the clinic and the city. Someday he would find his soulmate, Anders swore, and nothing, not the Chantry, not the Templars, not even the whole mad world, could ever keep them apart. 

-

Fenris had no soulmark. No, that was wrong. He once had a soulmark. But Danarius, ever jealous, ever cruel, tried to scrub that off his skin as he cut him apart and inserted the lyrium into his body. But even a magister as powerful as Danarius could not fully erase a soul mark. Those spots and slashes of bright blue stood out against Fenris olive skin and peeked out between lyrium markings no matter what Danarius tried to do. Fenris did not dare ask what the blue marks on his arm were, for a slave asked nothing of his master. When Fenris parted from Danarius and fell into the care and keeping of the Fog Warriors on Seheron, that was when he learned what a soulmark and soulmate was. That was what caused him to wonder, to dream, to _hope_. Someone out there was Fenris’s match. There was someone who would love him, who would give his life meaning and purpose and a relationship of _equals_. Fenris would pet the little blue marks and wonder what sort of person would be tied to a fugitive slave. 

A fool, he decided, though it was no fault of his soulmate that whimsical fate tied them together. When he put serious thought to it, Fenris hoped that his soulmate was kind and patient. They would need an excess of both traits if they must bear the burden of Fenris’s many flaws. Most of all Fenris hoped that they were real, that Danarius had not managed to take his soulmate away as he took everything else. But Danarius could not take his soulmate, Fenris decided. He would not. Fenris would find them first, and Danarius would never have what was Fenris’s ever again. 

-

When Anders first met Fenris he dismissed the elf as an irritating ass. The elf hated all mages and hated _him_ as a result, so Anders tried not to think of Fenris at all. It would only exhaust and frustrate him to think on Fenris, who spat and cursed and ridiculed him. But sometimes it was just too tempting to engage the elf in conversation. Anders got a dark sort of thrill down his spine every time Fenris said something brutal in his voice that just _ruined_ Anders. Fenris was caustic and clever, witty and wicked, and there was little that Anders enjoyed more than picking at Fenris and seeing his eyes flash before he dug into Anders with a clever little remark. 

Anders could also admit that Fenris was a beautiful man. His form was pleasing, slim, and strong, and his face devastatingly handsome. And Anders never tired of seeing Fenris’s sharp green eyes flash in their many moods. If Anders was his younger, more reckless self, he would have hounded Fenris mercilessly for attention. But he was older and tired now, and had no time for chasing after handsome men. 

A quick and dirty one night affair was all well and good, Anders acknowledged, but he was no longer built for fast and brutal. He wanted something more meaningful. And when it was late and cold and he was snuggled in his bed in the back room, Anders could admit that he wanted the connection and love of a soulmate. He longed for the touch of someone who would be his equal in every respect. He wanted to be loved. Was that so wrong? 

No, Anders thought as he stared down lovingly at the pouncing tiger on his forearm. There was no crime in loving, and Anders would find his love. And nothing, not even a rude elf with eyes as weathered as sea glass, could prevent Anders from finding his soulmate and happiness. 

-

Fenris did not think much of Anders. He thought of Anders, certainly, but he did not think _highly_ of him. He was arrogant, he was hypocritical, he was a fool. He thought he could control a demon purely because the demon called itself “Justice” instead of Rage or Lust or Fear. Fenris had seen greater mages fall to the influence of demons, but he knew of no other mage who was so easily taken in. Yet Anders’s idiocy was far more worrying than the Witch’s egotistic dabbling in blood magic. He genuinely believed that his demon was going to _help_ him and others. But what was most irritating about Anders was that he was, at times, likeable. 

He was handsome enough for a human, Fenris supposed, all tall and blond with a distinguished nose and wicked eyes that seemed to dance with irreverent humor. Fenris was slowly learning his preferences, what he liked instead of what he believed he _should_ like, and he found himself harboring a slight inclination towards irreverence and mischief. He should have been annoyed that Anders harbored both traits in spades, but Fenris was not nearly as offended as he might have been. 

Anders cared about people, certainly, and he worked tirelessly as a healer. No Tevinter magister would dare lower themselves to care for the poor and desperate, but Anders did on a daily basis. Fenris could not comprehend Anders’s willingness to help those in need, and he would have dismissed it as a martyr complex, but Anders never advertised his sacrifices unless he was poking fun at himself. He was playful, and it made Fenris want to learn to play. He longed for the easy friendliness Anders mastered, so he watched him. Fenris told their companions that he was watching in case Anders turned on them, but in truth Fenris watched because he wanted to become better at socializing. He wanted to learn how to tease, how to laugh, how to be laughed at. 

He wanted to be healthier for himself and his soulmate. The longer Fenris spent out from under the pressure of Danarius’s thumb, the more Fenris wanted to find his soulmate. But he was not ready to search for his match yet. He traced his fingers over the scarred lines and prayed that his soulmate would wait for him, just for a little longer. His soulmate deserved Fenris at his best, and Fenris would not settle until he was at his best. 

-

Anders found his soulmate in the most unlikely of places and at the most unfortunate of times. His clinic was flooded with the denizens of Darktown, victims of choke damp and a thousand other maladies that came with living in Kirkwall. Anders was busy serving yet another mug of elfroot tea sweetened with honey to feed to a patient when Hawke burst in with a bundle in his arms. It only took a moment before Anders realized that the bundle with lanky arms and legs in Hawke’s arms was someone they knew. That head of fluffy, pale hair could not be mistaken for anyone else. 

”There was an accident on the coast.” Hawke explained. “And he jumped into the battle without looking and-” 

”Put him down on the cot.” Anders ordered. He hurried off into the back room to pull out bandages and medicine, lyrium potions and clean surgical instruments. When he returned Hawke had placed a barely conscious Fenris on an empty cot and was trying to keep him still. 

”I can walk.” Fenris protested with a croak. “I am well.” Even as he tried to lift himself up he winced, and Anders saw the wet blood on his tunic. 

”Hawke, pull those gauntlets and armor off, I need to clean his wounds.” Anders ordered. Fenris was delirious with pain, and started squirming away. Hawke was of little use, as he kept letting Fenris get away from him. He only managed to unclasp Fenris’s breastplate before giving up. Fenris seemed to be looking past them, his green eyes focusing on something that wasn’t there. 

”No, no, no.” Fenris moaned. 

”Andraste’s ass, what’s _wrong_ with him?” Hawke whimpered, his skin ashen with terror. Anders sighed and pushed Hawke to the side. The big man was absolutely useless in the clinic. Too squeamish. 

”I’ll deal with this.” Anders said shortly. “Go boil some water in the back.” Hawke scampered away, and Anders wondered how it was that Hawke could handle so much bloodshed when he could barely stand being in the clinic for more than five minutes. 

**”The elf is feverish.”** Justice remarked, and Anders sighed. Feverish and bleeding out? Not good. He had to stop the bleeding first. Anders tugged off the first gauntlet, Fenris fighting him at every step. He tugged off the second gauntlet, and was greeted with a familiar flash of bright blue swirling among the lyrium veins of his forearm. 

Fenris’s soulmark was scarred over, the lines broken by the lines of lyrium and scars of battle. The pattern was not easily discernable at first glance, but Anders recognized the blue slashes, the extended paws, the proud tilt of the tiger’s head. After all, he saw the same marks every morning when he woke and every evening as he fell asleep. 

It was Anders’s soulmark. 

Fenris was Anders’s soulmate. And Anders’s was Fenris’s. Anders couldn’t help but stare at those blue marks, the scarred and snarling tiger on Fenris’s arm. His. They belonged to each other- Anders shook his head and tugged Fenris’s tunic over his head. He had to staunch the bleeding. He had to save Fenris. 

He had to save his soulmate. 

-

Fenris woke to the faint glow of candlelight and a soft pillow under his head. The bed was unfamiliar, but warm. It smelled of soothing lavender and the sharp scent of elfroot, and Fenris turned his head to bury his face into the pillow. Soft, and there was another lingering scent, something that smelled of sweat and citrus. Fenris opened his eyes and looked around the room, and was surprised to see that he was in Anders’s clinic. He recognized the walls and floor, but this room was not the main room with all the cots. First off, there were no other cots. There was a desk shoved in one corner, its surface overflowing with parchment and books. A candle set on the desk was burnt to nothing more than a stub, the wax slowly dripping onto the floor. 

”You’re awake.” A soft voice said somewhere above and to Fenris’s left. Fenris knew that voice, though the awed softness in the normally arrogant timbre was new. Fenris struggled to sit upright in the bed- a bed that was certainly not his or any other cot in the clinic. 

”Don’t move.” Anders ordered, finally appearing above Fenris. “You’re still healing. Torn stomach muscles don’t heal overnight, even with magic.” The teasing scolding was still gentle, so tender it made Fenris’s heart ache. He still struggled, defiance a bad habit he cultivated in his eagerness to be contrary and free. Anders’s hands shot out and, much to Fenris’s surprise, supported him and helped him sit up. He placed pillows behind Fenris’s back until Fenris was comfortably leaning back against the headboard of Anders’s ramshackle bed. Anders’s hands hovered above his shoulders, then hastily grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around Fenris’s shoulders. Fenris was not used to being fussed over, and Anders was fussing as if Fenris was too delicate to endure a minor stab wound. 

”I am not a child or invalid, Anders.” Fenris grumbled, and Anders ‘tsked’ softly, a little click of his tongue on the roof of his mouth. 

”Child? No. Invalid? Certainly.” Anders said before he bustled away, his back turned to Fenris as he prepared something over his strange fire for brewing potions. When he returned to Fenris’s bedside he held a large earthenware mug in his slim, freckled hands. He held the mug out to Fenris. Fenris saw that Anders’s hands were shaking, the liquid in the mug dangerously close to sloshing over the rim. 

”Elfroot tea. It will help with the pain.” Anders offered weakly, and Fenris wondered what weighed so heavily on the man’s mind. 

”I can live with pain.” Fenris said carefully, but he took the mug from Anders. The mage was not wearing his coat, and had at some point during the day rolled his shirtsleeves up above his elbow. There was a tattoo on his right forearm, a swirling pattern made of familiar blue- no. It was not a tattoo, Fenris realized, but a soulmark. 

_His_ soulmark. 

”We’ve never seen eye to eye. But perhaps that is what we need.” Anders said, his amber brown gaze warm and strong. It was not a challenge, for Anders’s stare was not aggressive. It was kind, welcoming, and it warmed Fenris to his bones. This was acceptance, this was understanding, this was the love Fenris so wanted and never thought he’d have. And it was Anders, argumentative, foolish, bitter and sweet _Anders_ , who offered it freely. 

There were times to run, and times to stand up and fight. Fenris had been running away for much of his life, running from chains and ghosts. But now he had a chance to run to something, run headlong into the unknown and embrace the strange. It was time to turn and face the tiger. 

Fenris was not afraid. 

”The Maker has a strange sense of humor.” Fenris croaked out before he drank his tea. Anders stood stiffly at his side, as if he was unsure of what to say or do next. Fenris set the mug down on the crate that served as Anders’s bedside table. 

”He certainly does.” Anders said cautiously. 

”Perhaps humor is what we need.” Fenris added. “I have not had much to laugh about in my life.” Anders seemed to relax at those words, and he pulled a three legged stool over and sat by Fenris’s bedside. Neither of them spoke for some time. Fenris looked Anders’s soulmark: whole and unbroken, what his once was. He could trace out the bits of linework under his scars, the beautiful blue now so clear and sharp on his skin. He and Anders. Together. 

”We’re very different, aren’t we?” Anders said cautiously. “Do you think the Maker’s laughing at the pair we make?” 

”I doubt the Maker looks in too much on his creations.” Fenris replied. “But if he does he may spare a chuckle.” 

”Too dignified for a proper laugh, you think?” Anders joked, and Fenris laughed. All of it was silly. He was a full grown man laughing at cosmic jokes and the Maker, and he had not laughed in such a long time, for he had nothing to laugh about and no one to laugh with. He laughed until his stomach hurt, and then Anders was supporting him so he could rest without injury. Fenris kept staring at the soulmark against Anders’s forearm, bold and blue. So very blue. 

”It is beautiful.” Fenris murmured, reaching out to touch Anders’s mark. He had not realized that this was what his mark was. Beautiful. Anders let Fenris touch the mark, and he was smiling. Fenris could not remember the man ever smiling before. 

”It is, isn’t it?” Anders whispered back. “I stared at it all the time in the Circle. Daydreamed about my soulmate all the time. You, I suppose, though I wouldn’t have known.” 

”I hope I do not disappoint.” Fenris replied softly. Fate dealt them these cards. He was tied, _they_ were tied together. Fenris hoped he was suitable. He hoped he was enough. 

”You’re nothing like I imagined.” Anders said. “Yet you’re everything too. Confusing, isn’t it?” 

”Yes.” Fenris took Anders’s hand in his. “We will have much to learn from each other, as time goes on.” 

”But you want to learn?” Anders sounded eager, and he squeezed Fenris’s hand in his. Gentle. Gentle was new. They were learning already. 

”I never expected to find my soulmate.” Fenris said softly. “But I can learn to care for you, Anders. Can you do the same?” 

”I can.” Anders replied. “I can, if you help me.” 

They sat up together through the night, holding hands and learning how to be a pair. It was not easy, for they were not easy people to know, but it was rewarding. And it was more than either of them dreamed of having.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be 300 words. The prompt got away from me, I think.
> 
> Thank you for reading, leaving kudos, bookmarking, and/or commenting on this story! I truly appreciate it!


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